Portraits of transition
The ’90s were for me the most beautiful and also the most creative – an exciting time of celebrating the newfound freedom after the fall of the communist regime in Romania. My life has completely changed because of these photographs taken during those years when I was correspondent for AFP, Sygma, EPA and AP.
“We won’t sell our country” were the words on everyone’s lips. The feeling of confusion was mixed with the joy to do everything that had been forbidden to us before, with no order or rules and with the desire of achievement the most idealized and difficult objectives. In a desperate attempt to fill the void of the newly discovered democracy, Romania lived its first transition years in a constant back and forward movement: a jump to the sky, followed by an abrupt fall into own innocent inferno.
We ran on the streets, we mourned for the lost ones, we got our passports, we looked at the never plowed land which should have enriched us and we rushed to the “Sexy Club” to watch the capitalism face to face. “Hurrah!” for this, “Shame!” for that, “Up” for some, “Down” for others – everything was spinning in a continuous hysterical balance. One by one the dreams vanished away and we had nothing left but to take back our places in queues – this time not for soy salami but for visas. That was Romania in the ’90s – a place full of euphoria, illusions, and paradoxes.
Portraits of transition
The ’90s were for me the most beautiful and also the most creative – an exciting time of celebrating the newfound freedom after the fall of the communist regime in Romania. My life has completely changed because of these photographs taken during those years when I was correspondent for AFP, Sygma, EPA and AP.
“We won’t sell our country” were the words on everyone’s lips. The feeling of confusion was mixed with the joy to do everything that had been forbidden to us before, with no order or rules and with the desire of achievement the most idealized and difficult objectives. In a desperate attempt to fill the void of the newly discovered democracy, Romania lived its first transition years in a constant back and forward movement: a jump to the sky, followed by an abrupt fall into own innocent inferno.
We ran on the streets, we mourned for the lost ones, we got our passports, we looked at the never plowed land which should have enriched us and we rushed to the “Sexy Club” to watch the capitalism face to face. “Hurrah!” for this, “Shame!” for that, “Up” for some, “Down” for others – everything was spinning in a continuous hysterical balance. One by one the dreams vanished away and we had nothing left but to take back our places in queues – this time not for soy salami but for visas. That was Romania in the ’90s – a place full of euphoria, illusions, and paradoxes.
